there she is

Those long southern words that fell onto my cheek, I would recognize them anywhere.


infancy AKA monday morning thoughts before I lay on my couch and watch talk shows and the price is right

1. its fun to watch Tara marvel at how we gays appear so normaL (her word, not mine). as I keep trying to find a spot to ask, “so, what do you think?”

2. I sat at a stop light this morning, and watched a guy in the truck next to me  fiddle with his phone for about a minute. when he was done, he turned on his blinker and tried to get in front of me. i could have been nice and let him in, but didnt. instead i i moved my lips to say something about his phone. seeing that, he rolled his window down, and asked me, “what did you say, did you say somethin’?”. I finally answered him with the expected, “maybe if you weren’t on your phone, you would be in the lane you wanted..”.
He promptly rolled his window down some more and called me a dyke bitch through it.

I wondered if it was okay for me yell back the N word at him.  He was OBVIOUSLY black, I thought.

3. Next Monday is the 11th, and it will be six years since my mom died. //nuff said.

letters make words make sentences make letters

I guess my posts here have made their way into Google, as I got an e-mail the other evening from someone that made some comments on a couple things, and asked some questions..

Here, dear reader — are some of your answers, in no particular order:

Q: Whats with the parent post? That seems out of place. What’s it from?
A: This isnt my normal blog. On my normal blog, I’ve talked more about my parents, both in life, and death. That particular post was a response to something that was said to me by someone that lacks any kind of selfless maternal instinct.. if you know what I mean.

Q: Who are you writing about? Why? And do they know or care? Are you in love?
A: It doesnt matter who I write about, and honestly I’ve written about several people on here. I can fall in love every day. We (people) tend to be great, if we are allowed to flourish. Finding people that flourish is becoming harder and harder to do though. We are all so tightly wound. Today, I am not in love; tommorow, I might be.

Q: People are shitty. I hate my life. Do you have any advice for me?
A: Yes, generally, people are shitty. Not everyone though is as bad as you might think. Have hope!

I could get personal here, but dont need to, or want to. The simple fact is that it’s wise to take the source of anything said to you, or about you, into account — don’t let someone else’s unhealthy outlook on life mire you up. And, please dont look twice at anyone that recklessly discards you. They dont deserve you, and never will.

And then there’s this, my little mantra/song that always brings me back to what I believe in, how I roll, and the type of people I want in my life..

No magic here. Just words.

parents pt1

It’s difficult, i imagine, for someone that has, little or no fond memories of their parents to understand the kind of person that would take care of an aged parent for 10 years. hell, it’s difficult for a lot of people, even those have good relationships with their parents.

She was a functioning alcoholic, who didnt quit drinking until I was nearly 30, and then didn’t do it, for anyone other than herself. No surprise there; alcoholics rarely quit for others. She had, by the time she quit, managed to alienate most of her kids, except for me. I was in california at the time — involved, working, living ..
She called us nightly.

I moved back, not expecting to spend as long as I have. It was pretty clear, though, within the first week or so (she was keeping a 16 year old nearly-dead dog alive on her bedroom floor, and injecting it with vinegar ‘to kill the cancer’), that she was in need of something, or someone, to “keep her company”.


And as I’ve recounted before, time passed. And no, it wasnt easy, but I did get most of the apologies I needed for the crappy things that happened to me as a kid. She owned up, in the end.

I dont ever look back with any kind of regret at the time I spent with her. She was a terrible mom, and i STILL dont regret it. Above all else, she was still my mom – and the very least I could do, for her, for our relationship, was to be there for her – when no-one else was.

She died on Nov. 11.

In 2011 I almost forgot the date completely.

It’s not about living in the past. I dont even miss her.

It’s about recognizing that despite her faults, and she had a LOT of them, and despite her raging alcoholism, most of the things she tried to teach me when I was younger .. she was right. She did her best. I’ve accepted that. I owed her the same. She got it.

friends s01ep2

Chandler: Oh, I think this is the episode of Three’s Company where there’s some kind of misunderstanding.
Phoebe: Then I’ve already seen this. (takes the remote and clicks)

the subtle difference between love and the letter (or why she cant write because you have to be unhappily inlove to write loving sappy words)

love and love letters are two different things. love is deep and magical and complex and intense; too often, love letters are the lonely sorrowful cry in the otherwise dark and still night. love possessed is expressed in silence and active patience, in contrast to love lost, expressed in the all too recognized mournful wail of the broken-hearted love letter.

the nuisance tree

there was a tree in the boulevard strip that had to have been planted back when everyone was too high to care, an apple tree that shed pie perfect fruit. the neighborhood kids loved to climb it, or throw sticks or rocks, to get it’s apples, and she was always having to yell at them to stay away from that damn tree.

fvck i was

they used to play backgammon outside under the streetlight until the sun came up.

“why cant we go in the house? lets..”, she would ask? “because ..”, she would always answer, and they would play on. it was never an option and though the one pretended otherwise, they both knew better.

years later that streetlight would be torn down.

im convinced that regret is very real, and that people that say otherwise are just masking the pain of having lost their streetlight.


it goes something like this in her head.

a: he couldnt talk huh?
b: who, huh?
a: you know who ..
b: huh, what?
a: he couldnt talk.
b: how do .. hum..
a: everyone knows.
b: hum..
a: nice picture. I got it..

she never gets it.

jealousy is not attractive. love is selfless, she keeps reminding herself – while continuing to feel slanted by his off-screen presence .. To think, she auditioned him.

she asks me what to do?

Love wants to be selfless, but it’s not. Lies of omission ..

So deal with it. Step back, and reassess whether or not you’re actually comfortable in the the box you are in. If you arent, can you step out? If there isnt then, or it’s .. well, you get the idea.

Its a flowchart.

shit happens, things change.

Never the bride, always the bridesmaid, she walked away with her head in her hands.

consistently inconsistent is

its hard to write and have it be an independent thought, something that exists outside of all the other things you write; life is a big story. But it’s also subject to the ups and downs of the human condition –today I feel one way, tomorrow I may feel something else. I really need to keep that in mind while I read my own thoughts. Like she says, Ive never done this before.

hummph “:)

unrealistic expectations

so the truth is that telling yourself that you are going to stay “out of the past” completely — it’s crap, it’s unrealistic, and it doesnt work.

im currently torturing myself over the fact that i apparantly *never* tried very hard to find c. after i got my inheritance, and why not? for the life of me i cant remember any particular reason. other than m, and i know where that got me. im torturing myself because my life, her life, and quite possibly, her son’s would be a lot different. im seeing Hawaii, or someplace equally as warm and tropic.

even more unrealistic.. expecting that you can stay completely out of the past, while trying to establish some type of ‘something’ with someone that came from your past. that doesnt work either.

needless to say, im struggling, and I cant talk about this anywhere else.

on the one hand, if i didnt have any connection i would be devastated (i think)..

on the other hand, i wouldnt be left wondering if I am just a convenient escape to her boredom, and feeling like im chasing somone and something thats not ever going to be attainable or sustainable. not to mention the constant memories im bombarded with.



i still cant shake it. Im writing, obviously, but its still just blurbs. i cant write letters either, at least letters of extended substance. the thing is that my brain feels like its going nonstop thought after thought after thought after thought.. and I dont mean at a normal speed, if you know what i mean.. in other words, there’s content there, I just cant seem to articulate.

so i say, “bleh”

struggling with xmas present(s) also. good thing ive started thinking about this early